Self Put Aside
The following are abbreviated narratives from letters printed in
several papers:
Five wounded British soldiers who had lost their regiment managed to
limp in the wake of the army until they found an officer lying wounded
in a trench. They were all too weak to carry him, but they told him
that they could not leave him there to the tender mercies of the
butchers. "Push on, my lads," he replied. "England wants every man who
can possibly save himself. Better for one life to be lost than six."
But they did not leave him, and soon almost jumped for joy to see a
motor-car flying the British flag. They were taken in the car to a
French hospital.
We are so accustomed, however, to read of officers saying, when
mortally wounded, to their men, "Do your duty, my lads, and never mind
me," that their self-forgetfulness almost ceases to surprise.
One officer was hit, and his men were for putting on his first field
dressing. "No," said he, "I am past that, but for God's sake don't let
the Germans break the line."
There was a British gunner whose wonderful marksmanship was the talk of
his battery. One shell blew up a railway station, the second fell plumb
into a German victualling train, and the third lopped off the team of
an advancing battery. Finally the German gunners hit him in the legs.
Even then he would not leave the field. "Carry me to the gun and let me
have one more shot," he implored. His comrades did so, and without a
groan he took his last aim.
A similar instance of self-sacrifice for the sake of duty was related
in _The Evening News_ by Private R.G. Tipper, of the 3rd Battalion
Grenadier Guards. "There was a man in the trenches who had not got
a clean sheet; he was always getting into trouble for one thing or
another. He got hit in the left arm. He crawled back to the nearest
field ambulance, and had his wound dressed. We advised him to go to
the rear, but he refused, and with difficulty made his way back to the
firing line. There, despite his wounded arm, he steadily went on firing
at the enemy. Some time passed, and he was shot in the right arm. Again
he made the difficult and painful journey to the field hospital, and
again, with both his arms injured, he stubbornly insisted on crawling
back to the trench. By-and-by he collapsed, shot clean through the
body. Several comrades ran to him and raised him. 'You must get back
now,' they told him. 'No,' he said with a white face, 'let me be. The
blighters have done me this time.' His rifle still rested where he had
been firing, supported in its loophole. 'Hoist me up before you go,'
he muttered, 'I'll give them another round, so help me! Prop me up,
quick.' They knew they could do nothing. They propped him up beside his
rifle and went to the other wounded men. With fumbling hands the dying
man pointed his rifle, and let drive two more rounds at the enemy. Then
he slipped down dead."
The fighting around Ypres involved a great amount of very risky
observation work. In many instances artillery subalterns took up
dangerous positions well in advance of the front line of infantry, and,
telephone in hand, gave the range to the gunners with perfect calmness.
A young lieutenant posted himself in a tower a few hundred yards from
the German trenches. He telephoned his orders regularly for half an
hour. Then he said, without any trace of excitement, to the operator
on the other side, "I hear the Germans coming up the stairs. I have my
revolver. Don't believe anything more you hear." With these words he
dropped the receiver; and he has not been heard of since.
When there is the excitement and stimulus of a "gallery" it is
comparatively easy to be brave; but think of the heroism of such
lonely work as that which was done by Lieutenant F.H.N. Davidson,
R.F.A. Early in the day our gunners had found it impossible to locate
certain German guns which were fast rendering our trenches untenable.
The country was so flat that there was no possible point of vantage
from which the gunners could observe except the steeple of the church
in Lourges. But the Germans knew that as well as we did, so the
church was being vigorously shelled, and already no less than twelve
lyddite shells had been pitched into it. It was the duty of Lieutenant
Davidson to "observe," so he calmly went to the church, climbed the
already tottering tower, and, seated on the top, proceeded to telephone
his information to the battery. In consequence German battery after
battery was silenced, the infantry, which at one time was in danger of
extermination, was saved, and the position, in spite of an attack in
overwhelming force by the enemy, was successfully held. The church was
rendered a scrap heap, but still Davidson sat on the remnants of his
tower. For seven solid hours expecting death every moment, he calmly
scanned the country, and telephoned his reports. At dark his task was
done, and he came down to rejoin the battery. As he left the ruins a
fall of timber in one of the burning houses lit up everything with a
sudden glare, there was the crack of a rifle--the German trenches were
only a few hundred yards away--and a bullet passed through the back of
his neck and out through his mouth. But, without hurrying his pace, he
walked to his battery, gave them his final information, and then said,
"I think I'd better go and find the field ambulance, for the beggars
have drilled a hole in me that needs plugging." And he walked half a
mile to the nearest "collecting point."
A man who was struck with four bullets in his thighs remarked, "What
luck to have got all four; that means three comrades more to fight the
Germans."
A private of the 1st Warwicks was hit with a shrapnel bullet at the
battle of Mons. He said, "Good luck to the old regiment," and rolled
over on his back dead. What _esprit de corps_! What forgetfulness of
self!
The gunner who wrote the following had the freedom from self which
enables us to sympathise: "I had comparatively little pain, though
it seemed that my arm had been blown away. I could not verify this,
because I was so numb it was impossible to move. What did hurt was the
sight of pal after pal around me either killed outright at one go, or
'snuffing it' in agony quite near."
Another soldier, though mortally wounded himself, felt so much for a
wounded pal that he said to the doctor, "See to that poor bloke first.
He is going home; he will be home before me."
Some of the Irish Dragoons went to the assistance of a man of the Irish
Rifles who, wounded himself, was yet kneeling beside a fallen comrade
of the Gloucester Regiment, and gamely firing to keep the enemy off.
The Dragoons found both men thoroughly worn out, but urgency required
the regiment to take up another position, and the wounded men had to be
left. "They knew that," said the trooper who related the incident, "and
weren't the men to expect the general safety to be risked for them.
'Never mind,' said the young Irishman, 'shure the Red Cross chaps'll
pick us up all right, an' if they don't--well, we've only once to die,
an' it's the grand fight we've had, anny-how.'"
Private F. Bruce, of the Suffolk Regiment, acted in this
self-forgetting way when wounded. After much hesitation he told the
story to a newspaper interviewer: "The bullet that hit me prevented me
from shooting. I said to a mate, 'I'm no good, so I'll make room for a
better man.' He said, 'Don't go in this lot, you'll get riddled with
bullets.' I said, 'Neck or nothing, mate; I'm keeping out somebody who
could do more good than me.' I got up and ran about twenty yards, and
a lyddite-shell burst about five or six yards in front of me, nearly
bringing me down with the suffocating fumes. I regained my footing,
and ran further, until I came to two artillery men. One was wounded in
five places, and the other was all right. After giving the wounded man
water, I tried to get to another fellow. Every time I made a start the
Germans began firing at me, as they were closing round my company. But
I was determined to go, and I made a dash for it. I ran about twenty
yards, and dived into some standing corn. I got to the poor fellow. A
live shell had burst and hit him in the lower part of the body. I asked
him if I could do anything for him, and he said, 'Yes; have you got a
rifle?' 'Yes,' I said. 'Well,' he said, 'for God's sake shoot me out
of my misery.' I told him I could not do that, so I gave him water. A
Highlander came up with a wound straight through the elbow. I bandaged
him up. At that time the Germans were only about 60 yards away. We had
to make a dash for our lives. I saw my company captured just at our
rear, but we managed to get to safety."
Even for one of the enemy self was bravely put aside. Seeing a wounded
German lying between the German and British trenches, a British officer
ordered the "Cease Fire," and himself went out to pick up the man.
He was struck by several bullets before the Germans saw what he was
doing and ceased firing. Thereupon the British officer staggered to
the fallen man and carried him to the German lines. A German officer
received him with a salute, and, calling for cheers, pinned upon the
breast of the British hero an Iron Cross. Then the Britisher returned
to his own trenches. He was recommended for the Victoria Cross, but
succumbed to his wounds.
A soldier wrote: "I saw a handful of Irishmen throw themselves in front
of a regiment of cavalry, who were trying to cut off a battery of horse
artillery. It was one of the finest deeds I ever saw. Not one of the
poor lads got away alive, but they made the German devils pay in kind,
and, anyhow, the artillery got away to account for many more Germans."
A private told the following to a newspaper correspondent: "A picket
of our regiment posted on a hill overlooking our left was surprised
in the early morning by a party of German infantry who had crept up
under cover of a mist. Our men refused to surrender, and all were shot
down but one, who was overpowered by the Germans. They wanted to get
information about our strength from him, and thought they had only to
offer him his life in return. He refused to tell anything, and then
they were going to shoot him, when he made a dash for it. At that
moment a party of our men, alarmed by the firing, came up, and the
Germans were cut off."
A sergeant wrote: "There was a man of the Buffs who carried a wounded
chum for over a mile under German fire, but if you suggested a Victoria
Cross for that man he would punch your head, and as he's a regular
devil when roused the men say as little as they can about it. He thinks
he didn't do anything out of the common, and doesn't see why his name
should be dragged into the papers."
So, too, an English colonel who had saved the life of a French private
kept the deed a secret for fear of "a beastly fuss" being made about it.
Similar modesty was shown by a Highlander who helped a wounded comrade
for four days through a country full of Germans. "When I found them,"
wrote a lance-corporal, "they had only a few biscuits between them. I
pressed the unwounded man to tell me how they managed to get through
the four days on six biscuits, but he always got angry and told me to
shut up. He had gone without anything; and had given the biscuits to
the wounded man."
Near Cambrai one dark night the British took the offensive against the
Germans, who were holding a bridge spanning the canal. When our men
reached an embankment running sharply down to the river several failed
to secure a foothold, and fell into the water. Four of the men who were
unable to swim, were in imminent danger of drowning, when Corporal
Brindall, an excellent swimmer, plunged into the river and rescued
all four in turn. He was clambering up the embankment himself, when a
German shell exploded near him, killing him instantly.
A man of the West Yorkshire Regiment took off his coat and equipment,
and walked over to the German trenches under a perfect hail of bullets
and brought back the adjutant, then made ten more journeys, bringing in
the colonel and nine men. He has been recommended for the V.C.
A soldier wrote in this way of an engagement: "We got the order to
retire none too soon, for we had just left the trenches when the
Germans swept across the plain where we had been entrenched. Our
officer in command was wounded at 3.30 a.m., but notwithstanding
his wound he stuck to his post, and it was not until 1 p.m. that we
discovered he was wounded and unable to walk. As we marched past him
it cheered us greatly to hear him say, 'Good boys, you've had a very
successful day.'"
In one of the first battles of the war a British soldier rode on a
bicycle through the bullets of German sharpshooters to warn French
soldiers that they were going into an ambush. After the daring deed
the French commander dismounted from his horse, took from his own tunic
a medal he himself had won for bravery, and pinned it on the British
cyclist's breast. "It was given to me, _mon camarade_," he said, "for
saving one life. I have the honour to present it to you for saving the
lives of hundreds."
Private J. Warwick, of the 2nd Durham Light Infantry, did not wish to
speak of the deeds for which he was recommended for the V.C. After some
persuasion, however, he told the story. "The Germans were entrenched
not 80 yards away on the other side of a hill, their trenches being
far more formidable than ours. We had not very long to wait before
shells and bullets began to fly about us in all directions. Our men
tried to rush up the hill, but first one and then the other fell under
the hail of fire. The Germans were at least twelve to one, but our men
held their own, fighting as I have never seen men fight before. We had
a great leader in Major Robb. He led the men splendidly. Lieutenant
Twist, one of our number, tried to advance with a company up the hill,
but he was quickly shot down. I saw him shot, and although the shrapnel
was flying and bullets were coming like rain, I made a dash and brought
him back to the trenches. Then I saw Private Howson, a Darlington chap,
fall, and I succeeded in bringing him from the firing line. The poor
chap was shot through the neck and the shoulders, though I believe he
is still living. I then went back and succeeded in bringing Private
Maughan. My last journey was the most difficult of all. I had to travel
over the crest of the hill to within 30 yards of the German trenches,
and how I escaped being killed I really do not know. I crawled on my
stomach and got along as best I could, and I am glad to say that I
succeeded in bringing Major Robb back right, as it were, from the very
noses of the Germans. It was a hard job to get him, and in my effort I
was shot through the back and fell."
A Royal Fusilier wrote: "While we were chatting and smoking, German
shrapnel began to burst on the trees above us.... I did not think I
should see home again, but we were all cool enough.... Eight volunteers
were wanted to cross the bridge and tell a section in danger of being
captured to retire. I made one volunteer, and my chum another. We were
walking between some railway trucks when bullets began to whistle
through; one could almost feel the heat of some of them, so close did
they pass. We lay down for a minute, and I said, 'We must get there
somehow.' Four stayed there and four of us went on. Directly we got up
more bullets came over, and one poor fellow got one in the neck. We
left him in the care of the other four and made a run for it. We got
there and warned the section. Coming back we had to keep running and
lying down alternately, but got back in the end with only one wounded."